Author's Note:
I do not own the Claymore series, nor do I own any of the Claymores, nor do I own Alicia or Beth (Although I wish I do).
This is... my first fanfiction, and if the writing is rather bad, I apologize in advance. I am here to share and learn, so please be patient with me.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of metal greaves tapping on stone pavement was loud to his ears, and seemingly a violation of the quiet unease that hung around him like a wet blanket.
"The townsfolk are wary." He spoke to no one in particular. If anything, only the keen ears of his escorts picked it up. "And one can only wonder why."
His escorts remained wordless, and the trio walked in stoic silence, through the town that had been bustling with activity a mere two minutes ago.
"Too long." He whispered. "Too long."
A great many calamities had befallen the land, casting a dark gloominess over its inhabitants, and more so himself.
Orphan though she was, she was, in a sense, my child. A strange feeling overcame him as he once again saw her face, that calm emotionless faint smile that forever refused to leave her lips. Over the years, she had become his strong right arm, a weapon against evil, a sharp lance that stood poised to slash apart the darkness and strike at its pulsating heart.
A smile that, to him, was as unchanging as the times.
"It's here." He tapped his shades further up the bridge of his narrow nose, and took a right off the road, onto a cobblestone passage. Flowers lined the sprawling gardens, a mix of roses and lavenders that interspersed with each other to create sea-wave patterns. He couldn't help but smile slightly at the connotations.
Red roses. Purple lavenders.
"Just like that day."
"Yes?" The small voice of one of his escorts echoed in his ears, and he realized that he had spoken too loudly.
"Nothing." He replied, and returned to his thoughts.
Just like that day...
He could recall it as if it had occurred mere moments ago, when he visited the skirmish grounds. The red blood of his warriors splashed across the barren sand and rock, a sacrifice paid for a tragic fault his superiors and peers had made. The fallen bodies of soldiers, graceful even in violent death, their pale skin and silver hair marred with the bright crimson of life.
How the strong have fallen. Purple blood sprayed across the site, a monstrous vandalism of an otherwise pristine tableau. The strong, the fast, and the powerful. He studied the three corpses that splayed out before him. Could we have made so monumental a mistake?
And on that day, when that faint smile finally faded, the times had changed.
The door opened before he had traversed half of the garden path, and a woman hurried out, looking worn and haggard. Mid-thirties, he surmised, most likely the woman of the house.
"May I help you?" She asked, and none too courteously, he noted.
Instead of answering, he took his time, slowly covering the last remaining meters until he stood before her. Behind the anonymity of his shades, he allowed himself the perverse pleasure of watching her discomfort grow.
After all, one was never comfortable in the presence of two Claymores and a man from the Organization.
The Organization. One whisper of that word would send chills down the spine of all whom heard it. The shadowy defender of people, a dark guardian against an even darker threat that ravaged the land.
A powerful institute that even now was on the brink of ruin.
We have lost Numbers One through Five. The cold voice rose from the depths of his memory. And none of our remaining numbers are worthy enough of the positions.
With the destruction of our highest tier warriors, the Organization has lost most of its combat power in a single stroke, leaving us vulnerable to a direct attack by any of our enemies.
In the face of this danger, and in the light of our past errors, we must strive for progress, and abandon all that we have assumed in the past.
Starting with her.
I have a task for you, Orsay.
"I am from the Organization." He began, and the woman seemed to shrink back upon herself. "And I have orders to take your two newborn twins."
"Yes, that is right." He confirmed, when he saw the shock register on her face. All has to be abandoned in the face of progress.
I may never see that faint smile again, but I pray that with this one terrible separation, no human shall ever have to bear such intolerable suffering as I.
"The Organization has need of Alicia and Beth."